Our Crossed Souls
by Bronzed.Snake
Summary: Draco and Hermione loathe each other. But war is nearing and suddenly each of them needs to relearn who they are without the labels society has placed on them. It's a bumpy road where Draco discovers what is beyond blood and Hermione uncovers the darkest parts of herself. Will they survive this road together or be doomed in a war that will surely kill them? Dramione/slowburn/ratedM
1. Chapter 1

He hated her. The bloody chit, always thinking she was superior and right. The irony wasn't lost on Draco, for he himself knew he held his family and blood as being the most superior, but he wasn't about to let that ruin his current path of destruction through the halls of Hogwarts. He'd managed along the way to place several jinxes that would unquestionably cause blame to fall on Peeves. Some portraits had run crying into the nonexistent horizon due to his 'kind' words he decided to share and he was pretty certain the elf he had kicked on his way at least gained a head wound. Afterall, if he was miserable on this Friday afternoon, then so would everyone else be. All thanks to the stupid, know-it-all mudblood.

Draco wanted nothing more than to stab his wand to his arm calling on the Dark Lord and his father to eradicate her and every other person believing her to be worthy of magic. Just thinking of the mark had a pleasant shiver running up his spine. He knew the Dark Lord was a half-blood, but it didn't mean Draco misunderstood a means to an end. Which meant, as soon as magical society was pure again, Draco would be sure to not make the same mistakes his father did.

His mental tirade ended as he rounded into the Slytherin common room. On the far end, seated primly was Parkinson and he quickly forgot the entire reason for his argument with the mudblood. The view of the Black Lake was casting an ethereal glow on her figure. _She almost looks pretty in the glow_. Smirking, Draco angled himself against the wall next to her, hands in pocket.

"Parkinson." The girl in question remained staring out the window. "You look nice caster under the lake's light." She laughed.

"Really, Draco. If you want sex you know where to find it, and it's not here."

"Come on, Parkinson. You've been playing this game since 3rd year. I just need some relief." Draco crossed his arms, a crease between his brows as he pursed his lips.

"Go to Teresa. I'm sure her being a fifth year makes the allure of the 6th year Slytherin Sex God irresistible." Pansy smirked, her red lips plump, and stood up, nearly matching his height. Up close he could see how her nose was scrunched just a bit too much for his taste, eyes further apart than he'd like, plus beady little things. She was pretty, just not Malfoy-worthy pretty. It didn't stop the chase from being fun.

"One day," he tucked a loose strand behind her ear, her bob cut asymmetrically. "One day, I'm going to make you beg for me to let you reach heights of passion with your legs wrapped around my waist."

He chuckled as Pansy huffed and pranced away into the girls dorms, her Hogwarts skirt leaving little to the imagination. Satisfied, he turned to the rest of the common room, grey eyes landing on a certain little fifth year. He needed the stress relief if he expected to complete his mission as the Dark Lord requested.

Meanwhile…

She hated him. The foul, loathsome, little cockroach always thinking himself superior and right. The irony wasn't lost on her, she knew he had what many considered purer blood than her, but she wasn't about to let that stop her from being top of their class in spite of the current war raging on. Several had stepped out of her path avoiding the sparks of gold energy emitting from her wild mane of curls. She was heading to the library so she could find the material she needed to prove him wrong. Then she'd shove under his tipped-up, aristocratic nose so he could inhale the truth for once.

Rounding the corner, Hermione quickly shuffled her feet to stop before running into the locked couple before her. Ron's red hair was currently trapped in Lavender's tight fists. She groaned, in an even worse mood before side-stepping the oblivious couple. With a quick wave of her hand, a tapestry fell over them, hiding them from view. A few staircases and turns later, she finally reached the library.

The Gryffindor paused to embrace it. The light shining through the windows, small particles of dust dancing around, wooden tables illuminated. Inhaling, she found peace in the smell of parchment and ink. After a moment, brilliant brown eyes opened, ready to scour for the book that would prove her completely right.

She found it just under half an hour later, and with the information in hand, practically wrote a book. Upon finishing she shoved it into her bag and began on her other homework so her weekend would be free. Then she could relax curled up on the couch in the common room with a nice, hot cup—

"Hey 'Mione!" Harry swooped down, pressing a kiss to her cheek before settling at the table with her. Behind him, Ron was trying to fix his red tie and mussing his hair.

"Hullo 'Mione."

"Hello, boys. What's going on?" She peered at them suspiciously, her quill poised still above her Defense Against the Dark Arts paper on werewolves, as assigned by one Severus Snape. Harry grinned boyishly, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, we need help with homework, but we were also wondering if you wanted to come to the game on Saturday?"

"It's against Hufflepuff!" Ron piped in. "They've actually gotten pretty decent this year."

"Sure, so long as I can bring my book." While Harry nodded in agreement, Ron shook his head and rolled his eyes before looking at Harry.

"She's crazy that one." Shoving him in her defense, Harry declared him a wanker before pulling out his work. Hermione grinned, feeling at home with her two boys around her. Some things would never change.


	2. Hallway Rendezvous

When Hermione saw him next, she shoved the properly bound stack of parchments in his face. They were in the hall, both on their way to DADA and he had some girl plastered against the wall. Hermione had chosen to ignore this, and with Harry and Ron at her side, she shoved the aged paper right into his face.

Pulling back, Draco sneered, his hand to his nose.

"Bloody hell, mudblood. Are you trying to give bleed me out one paper cut at a time?" Draco rubbed the small drop of blood between his thumb and forefinger. Ron's ears tinged red as he spouted the usual slur towards Hermione.

"I wish I were so lucky, Malfoy. In this, I have clearly outlined how according to Wizarding Law, your father's trial wouldn't fall under a misdemeanor but a full-blown criminal trial. There's an index if you get confused." It was mean, and a jab at him through his father, but Hermione had enough of Malfoy and the torment he'd showered upon them throughout school. Last week in Binns' class, she had elaborated on a wizarding law that ironically, implicated Malfoy's father would end up in a criminal trial case rather than a misdemeanor one as he previously was prone to. An offhanded comment from Ron just pointed it out for the whole class and Malfoy had chosen her as a convenient target for his anger.

At her response, Malfoy went still, his hand clenched into a tight fist at his side. Hermione nearly stepped back, because thought it was clear he seemed angry, his face was completely impassive. She could feel Harry shift at her side.

"One day, your muddy blood is going to be drained out of your body." Hermione's hand clenched her wand. "It'll rain brown for days when all of you are gone."

The parchment was wrenched out of her hands and without so much as a word whispered nor his wand drawn, it was lit to flame in Malfoy's hands. The ash fell to the floor around them and as he turned, yanking the girl with him, it settled onto Hermione's shiny oxfords.

"What a bloody git." Ron swung an arm around her shoulder. "You were brilliant though, 'Mione. I didn't even know you had written that up!"

As they walked towards class, Harry looked to be deep in thought. Hermione gently nudged him, causing him to lose trance.

"Sorry." He grimaced. "I know I may be letting Dumbledore's lessons get to me, but I swear, Draco Malfoy reminds me of Voldemort as a kid. I wouldn't doubt it if he had a Dark Mark on his arm."

Though Hermione had been trying her best to defend Malfoy and the unlikelihood he was a death eater, she couldn't help but accept that some part of her did believe it to be true. He'd been darker this year than previous, the petty insults sounding almost like true threats he could and would follow through on. She patted Harry's hand as they took their seats.

"I'm sure he can't be, still being underage. Let it go, just focus on this year, Dumbledore's lessons, and winning the war."

Beside them, Ron nodded.

"Yeah mate. Just focus on the weight of the whole world on your shoulders." Hermione glared at him, sensing clear sarcasm. "Or, we can go for a broom ride outside, get your head out of your head and into the clouds for a bit."

"Honestly, Ronald. Do grow up."

The next few weeks passed in the same manner; homework on homework, Malfoy moving shiftily around the castle, Harry's lessons and Hermione and Ron rowing over the stupidest of things. Hermione was tired. She thrived on schoolwork and somehow, her sixth year was way more than what she expected. If she thought OWLS prep had been hard, NEWTS would undoubtedly be much harder.

The same Tuesday night she'd found herself beyond tired, Hermione accidentally fell asleep in the library, tucked into an alcove no one knew about save herself and Madame Pince. Jerking upright, Hermione had to calm her heart and convince herself she wasn't actually falling off of a broom. A quick tempus revealed it was way past curfew and without Harry's cloak, she knew she'd have to be extremely careful not to get caught.

With a muffling spell and once her eyes had adjusted to the dark, she took off down the corridor. The hairs on the back of her neck stood tall, her hand itching to grab her wand from its holster along her thigh. It was eerily quiet in the castle that night. Well it _was_ until she heard a muffled sound break the silence. Pausing, Hermione held her breath, eyes wide. There it was again, was that a—

"Ohh, my lord! More!" Some witch was clearly enjoying themselves with a wizard in some alcove in this corridor.

"Do you like that witch?" A gruff voice answered, clearly muffling a moan that was turning too loud. Hermione could feel her neck growing red and bit her lip to keep from exhaling her breath. She needed to quickly extract herself from this situation.

Thinking quickly, she figured it was better to slide along the wall, blending in if anyone came walking down the corridor. Sliding along was a long and tedious process as she ignored the pants that sounded closer than she pleased. She paused upon feeling a cloth under her fingers. _Be a tapestry, please be a tapestry._

"Who's there?!" Filch's voice filled the air and Hermione pulled back her hand, slapping it against the wall too loudly. She heard some steps running, light and hurried down the corridor followed by Filch's heavy ones. Groaning, Hermione hit her head back to the wall. That had been close.

Quite suddenly a hand reached out and yanked her behind the fabric she'd felt before. Two hands were wrapped around her head, one over her mouth, an overly strong cologne invading her nose.

"Lumos."

Hermione's eyes widened. There, standing in the shadows, his wand light illuminating his bewildered face, was Draco Malfoy. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned and his zipper undone.

"Mudblood?" The hand holding her mouth ripped away, only for him to wipe it on his trousers. "Gross. Now I'm probably infected with the inability to properly do magic."

Hermione pressed her hand to her lips, glaring at him harshly. "Shut up, Malfoy. You made me bleed."

Apparently, he'd pushed against her mouth when she was biting her lip, because her tooth caused her flesh to tear. Grimacing, Draco looked down at his fingers. There on his palm was indeed blood.

Hermione watched as he froze, looking at the blood. He was staring hard at the small drop of blood he'd gotten on him.

"What's wrong with you?" Her words broke his reverie as he stared from his palm to her. Striding forward quickly, Hermione shuffled back to avoid him, only to hit the cold wall. His hand gripped her chin, his eyes inspecting the blood.

"Why is it red?" His whisper caused Hermione to gasp. She studied his face as doubt clouded his eyes. His brows were furrowed and lips were.. smirking? "I'm just kidding mudblood. Merlin, you actually thought I'd believe you're blood looked different from mine just because you're impure? You're worthless."

Draco laughed, dark and low as he shook his head. For a minute, it seemed like the chit actually held hope he could change. As if he, Draco Malfoy, was more than how he was raised. He left her there, after fixing his appearance of course. He wouldn't want anyone thinking it was the Gryffindor Princess he had been fucking minutes before Filch interrupted them. He truly regretted using her as a diversion so he could get away without punishment. The Dark Lord wouldn't be kind to his inability to do a task just to satisfy his more basic needs.

A/N

I realized I never wrote an authors note, last chapter! So this starts out in 6th year, DM has his task and HP is getting his lessons from Dumbledore, but it will stray from the actual plot. Also, disclaimer of me not owning any of these characters except for Teresa who I made up.

Let me know what you guys think!

.


	3. Arithmancy Partners

It was in their Arithmancy class that everything went to hell. At least, that's what Draco thought. Given his family name, it was only natural for him to have represent it well via placement into Arithmancy with top scores. _Or almost top scores as the mudblood would say._

Draco had been sitting, minding his own business, quill in hand and ready to go when Septima Vector, a witch Draco actually greatly respected, decided to rip that very respect to shreds, because the witch in question had decided it would be a good idea to pair Draco Malfoy with the mudblood.

His quill had snapped. His patience had thinned, and he was currently staring at the mudblood with his fingers laced over his nose. The chit had annoyingly acted superior, as if the pairing didn't upset her, and simply waddled over to him and sat down with her supplies. On the board behind her, there were instructions being written out as Vector began to get into what the project was.

"Alright class. Everyone is paired, yes? These matches were made for everyone to get the most optimal results within partnerships according to my calculations. As we have been working throughout recent weeks to get everyone able to do similar calculations on their own, I am assigning this project to build upon it."

Hermione was seething. You couldn't see it, because she'd forced her rigid shoulders to relax, and loosened her grip on her quill, but she was seething at the realization that she'd been paired with Draco Malfoy as the best partner to optimize her grade on this project. She was Hermione bloody Granger, and she could very well do the project herself!

"Now, the project can be either simple or complicated, that's really up to you all. You must develop a prediction calculation for either an event such as a quidditch match, or compatibility such as between a couple, or of alternative futures such as choosing careers and likelihood of success within those careers. This leaves a lot of room for you to decide what you would prefer as partners. The more complicated the calculations then the more bonus points awarded and added on to your final mark in the class. This must be divided evenly among partners, and I have a nifty charm to check and ensure that, though I'm sure our NEWT level students have an honor system. You may all discuss amongst yourselves before bringing the idea to me for approval."

Draco's stare had not lessened during the professor's speech, and Hermione decided to stare right back. The silence stretched over them, tension tight. She tried to replicate his sneer, resulting in him grimacing.

"You look ridiculous mudblood. Do stop trying to be like me."

"Look, ferret, I just want to get this project done. So let's pick one." Draco scoffed before muttering a quick reparo at his wand.

"Fine, we will do the career alternatives with a profile on yourself, a mudblood, in comparison to a profile on me, a pureblood." Hermione wanted to punch his nose so it could stop being turned upright.

"I'm sorry, were you asking a question in there, such as, 'Hermione, I think this is a good idea what do you think?'" She glowered at him.

"Nope."

"You're insufferable."

"You're a mudblood."

"Very original, Malfoy, why don't I show you how much power I have by turning you into a bouncing ferret again?"

"You couldn't react quick enough to do so, mudblood. You're probably weighed down by all the mud running through your veins." Draco sneered.

"You bloody git!"

"Bitch!"

"Arse wipe!"

"Co—"

"That is enough! Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy! My desk now!" The students in question trudged past the stares of the other students to the professor sitting behind her desk, eyes widened in disbelief. "What is going on?!"

Her question was met with arguing sentences that didn't finish as both vied to be louder than the next. Her two best students bickering like five year olds.

"Enough!" Her silencio wrapped around both of them uncomfortably. "What project are you doing?" She released Hermione's silencing.

"The career alternatives, professor. But, please can I switch—" Her question was silenced, her mouth continuing to move.

"I don't want complaints, just an answer to the question. Now, how many careers are you going to calculate and for how many people?" Malfoy was unsilenced this time.

"We will calculate for ourselves and do 3 careers each. Though mudbl—" Draco's pale face was reddening as he realized the witch once again silenced him.

"Make it five careers each. I want a comparison from each of the houses, with transcripts on the interviews you conducted with individuals. You may decide the factors in your calculations but at the minimum, must include full name, age, house and gender. I want a variety of careers, not all within the Ministry, mind you. Have a control such as a career that is impossible, like being a dementor guarding Azkaban or something along those lines. Everyone's timeline is different, given your project is a bit more complicated, I'll give you two months. Your in class time and out of class time will be dedicated to this. Now, both of you are dismissed. The spell will wear off in a few minutes. Best not have me find you arguing in the corridor."

Professor Vector waved them away, calling for the next pair of students to present their project idea. Hermione and Draco both collected their things and stalked out of the classroom, hate obvious on their faces. Though both were heading to the dining hall, Hermione chose to walk just fast enough that her small steps passed him and left him slowly disappearing behind her.

That night, Hermione lay in bed wondering how she'd be able to put up with being Malfoy's partner. The boys had been outraged, rightfully so, and it had Hermione doubting how much patience she had. She just knew she'd end up punching Malfoy in the face again. She was hoping for permanent damage.

A/N

Review! Let me know how its going, if you think they'll ever stop hating each other! I love this Hermione and Draco but trust me, things will change! Some hard lessons coming up!


	4. Nott's Bet

"So, we should both fill out this questionnaire I created for the project. I left enough space for us to do the calculations within each subject beneath the questions. On the back is a chart so we can have a side by side comparison of likelihood of success." They were sitting in the library, Draco doing his best to ignore everything the little chit was saying, but he knew he needed this project to go well to maintain his grades. Sighing, he pulled one of her dreaded sheets towards him.

"What careers should we do? Mudblood professional?" He honestly hadn't intended to let his thoughts slip out, but it just did. Hermione glared at him, already frustrated.

"How about Death Eater? I'm sure you'll be great at that!" Draco lunged forward, smirking as her grip on her wand tightened and she shifted away from him. "You're insane, Malfoy."

Draco ignored her words, scribbling away on his sheet. He was writing down his calculations. HERMIONE—

"What's your middle name?"

"What? It's Jean why does that matter?"

"Plain name." Draco responded before continuing writing.

HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER. 16. GRYFFINDOR. FEMALE. MUDBLOOD. Seeing what he was doing, Hermione raced to do the same. DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY. 16. SLYTHERIN. MALE. DEATH EATER. Both used the same conversion for numbers correlating to letters of the alphabet. The silence lasted another ten minutes before Draco smirked and slid his paper toward her, only faltering in seeing her disbelief as she stared at the parchment she'd been scribbling on.

"What's wrong with you, mudblood?" Her wide eyes shifted toward him, back to the paper, then toward him again. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out.

Draco preened, _probably a 100 percent success rate as a death eater has her scared. _He quickly snatched the paper, reviewing her calculations before looking at the number scribbled, underlined, and circled. Faltering, he furiously rechecked her calculations, but they were correct. There, at the bottom of the page, written in Hermione Granger's irritatingly neat handwriting, was a measly two percent chance at success. His heart stuttered, stopping in his chest at the thought he might not survive the war if he bound himself to the Dark Lord.

Hermione watched as he stormed away, disbelief still pumping through her. There was no way Draco Malfoy of all people had such a chance. It wasn't just low, it was practically nonexistent. He would never succeed as a Death Eater. Hermione quickly scribbled her own name down, trying to find her chance of success at such a job. She circled the percent, disbelief coloring her expression. Her small seventeen percent was still larger than his two percent. The thought that she doesn't allow herself to fail crossed her mind but for a moment before she refocused.

She explained to the boys at dinner her calculations but was met with both disbelief and refusal to accept those calculations.

"Way I see it 'Mione, is that regular folk don't use arithmatics to calculate their everyday lives for a reason." Ron's mouth was full of chicken, the drumstick dangling from his greasy hand as he prodded Harry to agree.

"He's right, Hermione. And there's no way Draco Malfoy isn't a death eater." Harry's green eyes shifted over to the Slytherin table in suspicion. "I know he's up to something this year."

She didn't bother to tell re-explain how it was a success formula, and that it wasn't about whether he was a death eater or not, but whether he would succeed as one. She wondered if that meant he wouldn't survive this war. She wondered why she had a chance of succeeding while he had none. The division between light and dark had always been so clear, but suddenly, here was Draco bloody Malfoy blurring the lines.

The next day, Hermione continued to stare at Malfoy, curiosity clearly shining in her brown eyes. He was too busy scribbling away on the parchment between them to pay her any mind. They were writing down the names of classmates they could interview for the project. Well, Malfoy was.

"Did your parents never teach you proper manners, mudblood?" His sneer was harsh on his pale face. Dark circles lined his eyes and she wondered if he slept after hearing his chances at being a death eater. When she didn't answer, Malfoy huffed out a breath. "Right, muggles don't know any manners, do they? Animals, the lot of them."

Hermione glared at him, wanting nothing more than to reach out and smack him with one of the books lining their table. Madame Pince's sharp eyes were keeping her from doing so.

"At least mine were around to teach me manners Malfoy. You were probably taught by a nanny." He ignored her, silence lapsing over them.

Hermione began tapping her quill, nibbling on the end to prevent her from speaking first. Ever tap was met with a glare from her blond companion.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptapta—_

Draco's hand slammed down on top of her slender fingers, snapping the quill in two. Jerking her hand away, Hermione stared at him in shock. Her hand burned curled into her chest.

"If you don't quit your bloody tapping I will enlist Peeves to bother you until the end of your days at Hogwarts."

"I'm just trying to figure out why your chance at success was so low." Her honesty shocked Draco for a moment, but he was quick to send her a sneer.

"None of your business, you insufferable chit." He refused to admit he was just as confused.

"Well, did you try any of the other possibilities?" Before he could answer there was a commotion coming from the stacks behind them.

Madame Pince had thrown out two students that had gotten too comfortable back there. Hermione's cheeks tinted pink as a third year Hufflepuff ran out, leaving a smirking Theodore Nott behind. Draco smirked at his companion, nodding in acknowledgement. Nott either didn't notice or didn't mind the screeching coming out of the librarians mouth. He sauntered past them, nudging Draco.

"You owe me ten galleons, mate."

Hermione stared as he handed them over like nothing. Had they honestly bet about his ability to get with another student? She scoffed in disgust, gaining their attention.

"I bet you 100 you'll never get Granger to do the same." Nott's crass mouth was smirking. Draco sneered.

"I'd never want Granger to do the same. She'd just smear mud all over me."

By the time his sentence had finished, Hermione had already shoved her chair back, packed her things up, and stormed out of the library, leaving behind a laughing Nott and glaring Malfoy.


	5. Interviews

"Full name?"

Silence answered his question, prompting Draco to glance up from his parchment to glare at the messy-haired wizard sitting across the library table. The boy in question was glaring at the blonde, pushing his round spectacles up his nose every couple of minutes.

"Harry, please, we need this for our project. _I need this_." Granger's voice came from the seat next to Draco, her own parchment laid out neatly in front of her.

"Honestly, Mione. Take the fail and drop the course." Draco wrinkled his nose at the nickname. Miney? What was she, his property? Sighing, Draco scratched his quill against the parchment, crosshatching neat little lines against each other.

"Harry James Potter! Take this seriously or you'll be throwing up slugs for the rest of the school year! See how far you can fly then!"

"If you knew his full name, you should have just written it and saved us all a load of time, mudblood." Hermione shifted her glare to him, though he stared back at her unphased. He knew just as well as she that they needed to provide the verbal record as proof of actually interviewing other students.

"Harry, answer the questions. Full name?"

The boy who lived sighed and uncrossed his arms to lean in. "Harry James Potter."

Draco picked up the second question. "House?"

"Honestly, Hermione!"

"Answer it! We need to show we actually interviewed you."

"Gryffindor!"

"Thank you, Harry! Age?"

"Sixteen."

"Gender? Actually, I'll just mark that as female."

"Male, you wanker."

"Heritage?"

"Human?"

"Harry!"

"More like troll, with your brains."

"Malfoy!"

Hermione slammed her hands on the table, her curls frizzing with her anger and energy.

"Harry, heritage? Meaning pureblood, half-blood, or muggleborn." Her teeth were gritted. The choice to add that into the questionnaire was Malfoy's.

"Pureblood. Both of my parents were magical."

"Great. Last one Harry, are you currently in a relationship you'd define as fulfilling or loving? One that makes you a better person?" That question had been hers and hard won after having to provide several sources to Malfoy to prove that relationships were one of the most important factors in determining a person's likelihood of success. At least, in muggle literature. Not that she told him it was muggles; she simply magicked a name or two to sound more wizard-ish. She could feel the ferret's eye roll beside her, making her wish it would stick and he would be forever stuck with the whites of his eyes outward, the pupils inward. The haughty thought that it would allow for introspection raised a small smirk to her face.

"No." Harry's answer brought her back to the present, he had a small frown on his face. "You mean romantic relationships, right?" Hermione smiled, patting her friend's hand gently.

"Any kind of relationship; friendship, mentorship, love." Harry's eyes lit up, and he nodded.

"Then yes, I do, plenty. All of my friends. Dumbledore. My family through friends."

Hermione scribbled down on her paper, hearing more than seeing Malfoy do the same.

"Great, boy-wonder. You can go. Next!"

Harry glared, kissing Hermione's forehead before he departed from the table. A suave Blaise Zabini sauntered over and plopped in the seat Harry had sat previously.

"Malfoy…" his eyes wandered to Hermione, taking her in. "… Granger."

Hermione straightened her shoulders and shuffled her parchment to a new sheet. Dipping her quill she looked up expectantly.

"Full name?"

"Can I get a date first? These are personal questions." Hermione glared while Draco smirked. He was feeling more relaxed in his friend's presence of course. Hermione prompted him again. "Full name?"

"No fun, mudblood. I don't care about your status. You're adorable enough. The name is Blaise Zabini."

Hermione arched an eyebrow, "No middle name?"

The Slytherin shrugged, a slight frown on his face. "Guess mum didn't care enough to put that much effort. I don't have one."

Hermione ignored the pang that sent to her heart, signaling for Malfoy to continue with a nudge to his ink pot beside her.

"House?"

"Slytherin, the mightiest!"

"Can't disagree there." The ferret's smirk was annoying, Hermione decided. "Now, age?"

"Sixteen."

"And heritage?"

"Pureblood." His scoff made Hermione roll her eyes. As if it was unimaginable to be anything else. She posed the last question.

"Do you have any meaningful relationships, friendships, or mentorships in your life?" Blaise looked taken aback by the question, glancing at his housemate to confirm it was legit.

"Um, no. Not that I can think of."

"Great. Thank you, next!" Hermione's voice carried over the stacks.

They continued like that, interviewing person after person. While Draco noticed there were more purebloods in houses like Ravenclaw and Slytherin, Hermione took note that those were the houses that lacked the most genuine relationships. It saddened her to think that any kind of success was less likely if they continued like that.

By the end of the night, both Draco and Hermione were tired of asking the same questions over and over again. Hermione had at some point spilled her ink bot, causing large blots to soak through most of her papers. Draco's own stack of parchment was littered with crosshatching and random doodles that he had spelled to move around. Hermione had the fleeting thought wondering if there were such a thing as magical tattoos that did the same thing. Then she wanted to smack herself, because she knew exactly what tattoo would do that.

As the clocks struck just before curfew, Malfoy began to pack up his things. He was neatly folding things so they wouldn't smudge, capping his ink pot with his spidery digits. Running a hand through her mane, Hermione didn't realize she smudged ink across her cheek.

She'd been wanting to rerun Malfoy's predictions of success but didn't have the courage to ask if he had any close or supporting relationships. Just as the words were ready to leave her mouth, the blonde in question had already turned and fled the quarters of the library. Hermione accepted that she'd have to find out the answer another day.


	6. The Death Factor

Draco wanted his predictions to come out differently. At least then it would prove that the mudblood was inefficient in some way. But yet again, Granger was showing her uncanny ability to be a bloody brilliant witch. The blonde sneered in disgust. Calling Granger a witch, much less brilliant was insulting to his birthright as a pureblood.

Still, the low numbers glared back at him, guaranteeing him no success as a Death Eater. He'd tried different combinations as Granger had suggested all those weeks ago. Nothing helped him. Scratching out his latest attempt, Draco re-dipped his quill in ink and then began to work on the last possible combination. The only factor he had not tried was one they decided to include in their calculations for the students they were interviewing. It also happened to be the one factor Draco was adamant Granger was wrong about: strong personal relationships and friendships. Giving in, Draco scribbled in a measly 'one', to see if that would increase his chances at all. Thus far, all variables left him at a miserable five percent or below for rate of success.

Sitting back, Draco lazily circled the number he got and dropped his quill.

Un-bloody-fucking-believable. There, with just one strong relationship, Draco's chances of success shot up to fifty six percent. Biting his lip, he carefully folded the parchment in several half, pressing the crease each time. Stuffing it into the pocket of his robes, he shoved away from his desk and fell back onto his bed. On the ceiling of his bed small stick figures on brooms were zooming around. He'd drawn them his first year, then spelled them to move later that same year and never removed it. Plus, it helped him sleep at night. For a moment, he wondered if Granger had figured out that relationships were the biggest factors determining his success as a Death Eater. But really, what did that even mean?

Was he supposed to bond with his fellow Death Eaters? The other side? Sweet Salazar, he couldn't imagine either offering enough substance of anything to truly effect the way he conducted himself. And truly, it was only one relationship. Did that mean it was a specific person that could affect his rate of success? It was hours later sleep finally found Draco, so it was no surprise when he showed up to breakfast, face pale and lips drawn tight into an impassive expression. In one hand he held an apple, in the other a knife to stab any hands or people that got _too_ close to him.

All around him cups were clanging, forks and knives scraping against plates, and the incessant chattering of his peers pressing on his ears. He just wanted some peace and quiet, but no. He had potions and arithmancy today which meant no early napping for him. Using his stabbing knife, Draco spread some butter on a roll, snagging a bite as his eyes lazily trailed the main hall. The Gryffindork Trio was pressed together tightly, Granger in the middle with the boys talking over her head, which was currently pressed into a book. She looked concentrated, her pale nose twitching in thought. Draco wanted to tell her to run a brush through her mane, though figured that might pull any shape from the curls and leave them an even poofier mess. He was biased sure, but not an Neanderthal when it came to proper hair care. His own hair was evidence for that. He wondered how it would feel to wrap her hair around his fist and push her to her knees where she belonged. His pink lips curled into a smirk, widening when Granger raised an eyebrow at his stare. If he could develop whatever important relationship, he needed with someone, then he would increase his chances of success as a death eater. Then, when their side won, he'd put Granger in her place, dressing her as a house elf to serve his every want and need as he rules over Malfoy Manor.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Malfoy's smirk. The arrogant blonde had been getting on her every nerve during their interviews the last week. He always spoke to her in a condescending manner as if it were _him_ with the top grades and not her. Stabbing a potato, Hermione carefully guided it to her mouth, mindful of the book she had open in her lap.

_A Guide to Extending Your Lifespan_ was a book mostly filled with rubbish, but she was particularly interested in the portion about relationships extending lifespan when they were meaningful. The most impactful seemed to be sibling bond, when borne of love rather than jealousy.The least impactful in extending lifespan was self-relationship, in other words, no actual friends.

Hermione had narrowed it the night before. The one thing that would improve Malfoy's chances in anything was an actual friendship or relationship. Being he was an only child, the sibling bond was unlikely unless he struck up a brotherhood with one of his peers.

"…eat that?"

"Huh?" Hermione broke from her daze to look at Ron's reddening cheeks. He pointed to the rest of the potatoes on her plate.

"Are you gonna eat that, 'Mione?" Shaking her head in fake admonishment, the curly haired girl pushed her plate to the redhead. Harry nudged her shoulder, pouting as she met his eyes.

"Why do you give that slob all your leftovers when you have me, your poor starving brother over here?"

"Because she loves me more, mate."

"No she doesn't, tell him Hermione." Smiling, Hermione ignored both of them and returned to her book.

"S'pose that means we're equal?" Harry laughed at Ron's words.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ron."

Hermione met up with Malfoy at 8pm to further work on their project. She had drawn an elaborate table and graph demonstrating the correlation between specific factors and success rates for each of the career choices. Malfoy was currently looking it over, rather meticulously, to find any minor mistake in her work. After a few minutes lapsed in silence, he gingerly put the parchment down, fingering his quill as he leaned back. Hermione watched as his eyes flitted from the parchment to her, to the table, a random stack of books, then started all over again.

"There's a factor we haven't considered here."

"Pray tell, Malfoy. What would that be?"

The blonde rolled his lip between his strangely white teeth, before setting down his quill.

"Death."

"Why would we consider that a factor?"

"You can't be successful if you're dead, Granger."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the obvious statement. She knew that, but she figured this was to measure their likelihood of success being alive.

"Is this about your failure as a Death Eater?" Malfoy tensed, his eyes turning to slits as he leaned closer.

"This has nothing to do with that. If we consider Death as a factor then it takes into account the likelihood that a particular job is dangerous and more likely to result in said person's death."

"What possible career ends in death, Malfoy?"

Hermione watched as he leaned back in his chair, listlessly throwing his fingers up with every occupation he spit out.

"Auror, dragon keeper, curse-breaker, quidditch player, Zabini's mom's newest husband—"

"Okay! I get it." Hermione loathe to admit he was right, but conceded anyway. "We can factor it in. Have you worked out the calculations for it?"

Malfoy stuck his nose in the air.

"Of course, I have. What do you take me for, a dunderhead?" He passed her his piece of parchment. Hermione looked over his scribbles, noting he hadn't integrated it into their calculations.

"So why haven't you integrated it?" Draco scowled at her condescending tone.

"I'm not going to do all the work, Granger." Surprised at the lack of derogatory terms, Hermione merely wrote down his equation on her parchment.

"I'll try to work through the principles, so it integrates without affecting the other factors. We can meet again to review it and test it. We more than likely will need to establish a percent chance of death associated with each career and use that figure some how."

Draco nodded, not wanting to tell her tried that but couldn't get it to integrate without affecting one factor or the other.

"Do it quickly Mudblood. The less time with you, the better." He flicked his wand to pack his items, having it float behind him as he left. Hermione merely made a face at the air. It seemed the rude term was back in play.


	7. Cloudy with a Chance of Death

Hermione Granger was doing the Hermione Granger thing and trying to integrate the equation Malfoy had given her into their prediction algorithm. The only problem was, she couldn't integrate it. So, there she was, on a Friday evening, a week after Malfoy had given her the bloody thing, and she had barely made any progress. Though she didn't prefer Quidditch matches, she would give anything to be out with the rest of the school watching Gryffindor take on Ravenclaw right now. The match had started a few moments ago, and the setting sun was casting an orange glow across her table and parchment.

Glaring down at her parchment, she quickly twirled a spare quill up and into her hair, to keep her wild curls from her face. A few slipped out anyway, but Hermione was already scribbling away again. A few minutes had passed when the chair across from her slid roughly against the Library floor. Pausing, Hermione finished her latest calculation, before looking up.

"Malfoy."

"Granger. Did you incorporate the new factor?"

Hermione chewed her lip softly, before sliding her work over to him, dragging his eyes down from her face to the table.

"I can't seem to integrate it without running into the issue of the Multiplicity Contradiction. With each career offering a variety of ways to result in death, I don't see a way around it."

The blonde cleared his throat, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"_That's_ what is giving you problems? Use a Serpin's Split Factor and it'll account for the Multiplicity Contradiction."

Hermione huffed, not wanting to admit she hadn't even thought of a Serpin Split Factor. It was typically used to derive multiple paths as they did earlier, not to resolve conflict between two paths that would alter the same career option. Snatching back the paper she scribbled in the newest information and _finally, _the equation worked.

"Malfoy, what did you mean _that_ was what was giving me issues?"

Draco stared at her blankly. He didn't really care to elaborate, and he wasn't quite sure what made him do so, but he found the words spilling forth anyway.

"The Multiplicity Contradiction is found in more traditional arithmetic equations. However, what's not, is the presence of so many determining factors. I couldn't get the actual math to work with an additional factor." Hermione wanted to laugh. Changing the factors just meant changing the dividends. It was simple math, if one had been raised in the muggle world. She didn't comment and instead nodded before posing her next question.

"What are the more traditional equations?"

Draco looked around the library, curious if anyone else was witness to the near civil conversation he was having with the mudblood. This was one for the books, that was for certain. Still, he threw her a haughty smirk.

"The equations that determine whether an arranged pair would provide powerful, pureblood children for instance." The ridiculous way Granger's face curled in disgust had him feeling elated, that he could elicit such a reaction.

Rather than answering, Hermione swiftly copied her parchment with the correct equation and gave it to him. Then, without a farewell, she packed up her bag and inkpot, and went on her way.

It was later that day, when she was nestled between Ron and Harry, that she felt at peace again, and willing to bring up the topic the ferret had mentioned. Suffice it to say, Ron thought it was a normal thing, while Harry thought it simply another pureblood tradition that was weird. So there they were, sprawled out in the Gryffindor common room, ping-ponging back and forth about it.

"All I'm saying is, wouldn't you want to know if your kids would be powerful wizards?"

"Or witches!" Hermione piped up. She was ignored as Harry responded.

"No Ron, I would want to know that my kids would be loved by the person I'm marrying." Harry rolled his eyes and looked at Hermione while making a crazy sign with his finger against his temple. She giggled and looked to the red head.

"Oi, I'm not crazy. Of course, you want them loved, but powerful too. Right 'Mione?"

Hermione scrunched her face. She was a person that valued knowledge and the power that came from it… but to base a marriage off of that alone? That was just…

"Ridiculous, Ronald. Love holds supremacy over power, any day. Look at Malfoy. The ferret was probably a conception of power choice, yet he isn't all that powerful."

"He's second in our year, Hermione." Harry's shrug in apology for his words did little to soothe her obvious displeasure.

"And I'm first. All I'm saying, is that I agree with you Harry."

"Whatever, you guys always stick together." Ron nudged them both, before convincing the messy-haired Gryffindor to play wizard's chess with him.

Hermione settled next to them, her parchment in hand as she calculated Malfoy's new chances of success with both relationships and death factored in as a possibility. Shocked, she stared at the paper. She'd circled his chance of success at 56%, but his possibility of death was nearly 100%.

What she wanted to do was rip the parchment to shreds. If she chose to ignore it, was she culpable in his near certain death? But, if she ripped the parchment, burnt it so no one could see, then no one would know she knew. Malfoy would die his death, and she could go on living in a world eradicated of everything he and the rest of the death eaters stand for. A loud bang snapped her from her reverie.

Harry's king was lying in a smashed pile of debris, the player in question rubbing his neck in disbelief. Ron was gloating and doing a weird jiggle dance while sitting crisscross on the rug. Shoving the paper in her bag, Hermione decided she would deal with it later. Instead, she joined the boys in celebrating Ron's victory with a careful trek down to the kitchens for some butterbeer.

But even as she sat there sipping the warm drink, laughing with her two closest friends, she couldn't help but have her thoughts wander back to the glaring number from the parchment, 99.7%. Malfoy was… well to put it bluntly, fucked. And she was certain she was the only one that knew just how much.

A/N: Hello new followers! This one is for you, inspiring me to keep writing even on the hard days. Hope you all enjoyed! Please comment, review!


	8. Ripped To Ribbons

He was fucked. He knew that because the days leading up to his deadline were nearing, and he was no closer to fixing the cabinet than he had been at the beginning of the year. Releasing a rare sound of frustration, the blonde hunched over the sink with his green tie askew in its loosened state.

He'd run through a variety of ways to repair the cabinet, but it seemed that it was impossible. Clenching his eyes tight, he remembered his mother's words. _You're closer than before. At the beginning of the year you didn't even know if it was possible to get into the castle_. He knew she was right. This had been a mission the Dark Lord wanted him to fail, if only to punish his family for their recent lack of ability to meet his standards. He knew he had taken the mission out of belief he could actually do it, but it didn't make it easier. Neither did the last bit the Dark Lord had tacked on—_kill_ the old man. Right. The bloke couldn't be killed in all these years of war, but sure, send a sixteen-year old after him, that'll work.

Trying to shake the thoughts out of his head, he tried to think of the world post-Voldemort winning the war. He'd take his father's seat in the Wizemgot. He'd be able to fly around his estate and run the family businesses without fear of the Dark Lord—he still planned to eradicate him once the wizarding world was pure again. Draco smirked, thinking of the face Granger would have when he could gloat about his library being bigger than any, she'd ever be in. Hogwarts was her limit.

Alarmed, he looked up to meet his reflection. He wouldn't be able to gloat to Granger in a pure wizarding world. She wouldn't bloody be there for him to gloat. A quick surge of anger coursed through him, before he pushed that thought away. He'd deal with it soon enough. For now, he needed to focus on getting the rest of his comrades in the castle. His eyes filled with tears of frustration, a few streaming down his cheeks. He really wanted to lay this mission onto another low-level death eater. This was more effort than it was worth.

That was how Potter had found him. Hunched, tears of frustration streaking his pale cheeks. Then, the git had to go and slice him to ribbons. If it hadn't been for Snape, he surely would've ended up dead.

When he woke again, several days had passed. Shifting, he held in the groan of pain, twisting his neck to see the blur that had lined his vision. Draco quickly snapped his eyes shut again. Why in the bloody hell was Granger sitting at his bedside? Whatever it was, he didn't plan to let her know he was awake. He really couldn't deal with her incessant prompts to complete their assignment early. Truthfully, the last week had been too busy, that he couldn't find time outside of class to help her with it. The last he spoke to her was the day before to resolve the issue of integrating in Death as a factor. And even then, Draco knew he hadn't bothered to plug in the calculation for his own odds. His arrival in the common room had prompted a full description from Theo about another witch he'd gotten to.

"Dear, I must do a quick scan of Mr. Malfoy, if you may?" Madame Pomfrey's voice was followed by a whispered reply and the scraping of something against the floor. He could feel the warmth of the mediwitch's diagnostic spell run over him, soothing checking all strands of loose skin. _Honestly, was Potter trying to turn me into a broomstick?_ His thought was cut short as the Gryffindor spoke.

"Is he alright, Madame Pomfrey?" He wanted to make a smart remark about her caring, but chose to continue listening.

"Yes, dear. If Professor Snape hadn't gotten to him in time though, I fear Mr. Potter would've received a much worse and much more permanent punishment."

The girl's quiet gasp didn't escape his attention. There was some more shuffling as the mediwitch finished her task, and something scraped against the floor again. As quiet settled into the air again, Draco kept his eyes closed, relaxing into the pillow as he listened to the girl scratch her quill against parchment. He didn't know how much time had passed in peaceful silence when she began packing things away. He could hear the papers shuffling and creasing as she placed them into her bag. A zip later, and he waited with abated breath for her to walk away. Instead, her footsteps neared him.

Draco tried not to respond as her hand lay on the outside of his left arm, which was buried comfortably beneath his blanket. He could hear her breath quicken as she trailed up, until she reached the blankets edge.

His eyes snapped open, grey meeting brown as his right hand shot to capture the wrist attached to wriggling fingers, trying to expose his left forearm. A dangerous growl left his mouth in warning, before he calmed. Face impassive once more, he held the tight grip despite her wince, and raised a pale eyebrow.

"Can I help you Granger?" Her stuttered response filled him with pleasure.

"I was just trying to…look, I ran your calculations and-and the new factor." Granger took a breath, trying to steady her heart before continuing. "I ran your chances of success with Death factored in."

Draco's chest tightened. What were his chances if her face looked so worried?

"And?"

"It's bad. It's—honestly, it's impossible. If you are going down this path, you're going to die, Malfoy."

She didn't notice his grip loosen, or the way his lips frowned in the smallest of ways. Instead, her eyes were locked on his grey orbs, trying to convince him that his death was certain if he were a death eater. She just wanted to confirm it for herself.

"Why do you care?"

Her sigh caused him to release her hand, freeing it to run through the wild curls atop her head. Sitting back in the chair beside his bed, she hesitated.

"It's not that I care. You're you, after all." At his eyeroll she continued. "It's just that, when I ran the calculations, I was ready to ignore it. Then Harry went and did something so incredibly stupid! And I thought, I could've prevented that! I could've warned you. But I had chosen to do nothing. I wasn't as brave as my house would lead you to believe."

"Your house leads me to believe nothing but that you lot only care about yourselves. Loyal to each other. Someone else's life on the line? Bugger them, right?" His sneer replaced the previously passive look and Granger flinched back, before straightening her spine.

"Believe what you want, Malfoy. But this is my warning. To even have a chance of success at the path I'm certain you've started, you need at least one good relationship with someone. That will raise you to more than half a chance of success. But any way you look at it… your chances of Death are near a hundred. You're going to die in this war if you don't make the right choices."

He was left staring at the empty space of where she had been sitting. Her amber eyes had burned into his own with such ferocity he wondered if she was an animagus and her form the mascot of Gryffindor house.

Was he ready to die? Surely, if he were dead he wouldn't be able to sway influence in a pure wizarding society. Slowly releasing the tension in his body, Draco tried to find sleep. For now, he would heal. Tomorrow, he'd deal with his career choices.

A/N

I totally was not going to write this, but I received so many reviews about people wanting to know what happens next! You guys had me in the writing mood to figure it out and this chapter flowed so easily. Hermione's eased her guilt. Draco is realizing he may need to re-strategize to survive the war so he can win his own battles? Hmmm!

Review! Like! Comment!


	9. Truth Hits

A/N. Hello lovely readers! I've updated again, thanks to the inspiration all the follows and comments give! Please be forewarned, this chapter has SMUT in it! The Draco/non-Hermione kind so I WARNED YOU. Lots of love!

Her words haunted him as he slept that night. And the night after that, too. The stupid witch had gone and gotten into his head. What was he supposed to do? Just let the Dark Lord kill his mother?

When Pomfrey finally released him from the Hospital Wing, the first thing he did was strut back into his dorm and do the calculation from his own parchment. The bint had been right. He wanted to scream, yell, throw things. He wanted to get his mother out before he died. He wanted to live to see his future. Everything his father had taught him, the values they held, were compromised if Draco died in this war. If he died, he will have failed to pass on the Malfoy name, and with it the Honor that's attached. It was his first lesson when he was old enough to comprehend the weight behind his father's words and swift cane.

Draco quickly tore up the parchment indicating his potential—_absolute, _came Granger's voice—failure at his current career path. Now, he needed to decide what to do. Did he turn? Default to the other side? Becoming a neutral party was surely out of the equation. Perhaps he could simply scoop his mother up and move them to start over in France or America. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of leaving home. This was the whole point of the war anyway—not wanting to have purebloods displaced due to the presence of muggleborns. Sighing, Draco decided some more rest would be in his best interest. After all, it had to be his recovery from Potter's deathly curse that was causing the light-headedness and heart palpitations.

She was helping a first year get to Herbology when he cornered her just two days later. It was near the same hallway where she had heard him and his… partner… all those weeks ago. Glaring harshly, Hermione yanked away from his grip and put as much distance as she could before she felt stone brush against her back.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" The smile she had helping the first-year was long gone, he noticed.

"So sorry to disrupt her highness, but I need your equation with my chances. I ran them myself and think I may have two variable juxtaposed rather than invariable to each other." His words were rushed, and it seemed the last two days had done nothing to calm any anxiety he held over the news she'd shared with him.

"Just show me what you have, I'll check it for mistakes." She huffed in disbelief. She'd already told him the results and he wanted to cross-examine her work? As if she didn't anything half-arse. Draco rolled his eyes, before grabbing her wrist and beginning to yank her down the corridor.

"Let me go, Malfoy!" Her yanking was stopped short as he rounded and leaned in close to snarl.

"I don't have time for your nonsense, Granger. If you don't want a trip to my room under these circumstances, then show me your damn calculations. I ripped mine to shreds and its laying in a bin beside my bed. And this…" He waved a hand over her, "... was not how I planned to get you anywhere near my bed."

Hermione sniffed at his lewd comment, quickly turning her chin up and away from him, as she began to rummage through her bag. When her fingers found it, she thrust it up to his face, letting out a shocked gasp, as he flinched away.

"Really Granger?" His hands were covering his nose. "I just left the Hospital Wing from Potter's attack and now you want to kill me by a thousand paper cuts?"

She couldn't have kept the laugh from escaping if she tried. The ferret just glared at her harder, before snatching the parchment. Hermione watched as his grey eyes furiously scan the equations and outcomes. He tensed. Her equations were the same set he'd used. Realistically, he knew this. He just hadn't come to accept it quite yet. So, he was fucked. And so was his mother. And the Malfoy name. And his vision for a world where purebloods could reign free again.

As the halls began to fill with students again, Malfoy shoved the parchment back to the mudblood. This was all happening because mudbloods had become a problem the Dark Lord endeavored to resolve. If magic had gone unperturbed, running through the veins of purebloods, his rise never would have happened.

Hermione was unsurprised to see him bolt away. That seemed to be the end to most, if not all, of their transactions. Though, based on his reaction, she thought that perhaps it was time to visit the headmaster. It was clear Malfoy wasn't going to do so on his own. So, perhaps with a push he could be persuaded to join their side, if only to save his life. She wasn't interested in his life, in particular. Rather, her knowledge still made her culpable if she didn't get a responsible adult or member of the Order involved to help him. Besides, even she could see the advantages of having a double agent.

Malfoy, meanwhile, had stormed into the common room. Slytherins that were previously chatting in their private conversations, eyed his entrance with interest. It was rare the Slytherin Prince came back in a mood, and to show it to his peers? Something was definitely up. Draco rushed past towards the staircase, accidentally bumping into a small figure in the hallway. Sniffles caught his attention as he tried to detangle and move past them.

"Pansy?" Her dark eyes shot up to his, her face blotchy and red. It was a far sight from the pleasant view she presented a few weeks prior in the common room.

"Draco?" Her hands grasped at his robes, as she pushed up to crash her lips to his. Startled, he pushed away, her lips landing at a weird spot between his jaw and neck.

"Don't get me wrong, Pansy, I'd love nothing more right now, but are you in the right state of mind?" His angry look never left, but he figured a good fuck before he died was something he should do. Still Pansy nodded, pushing back into him.

This time, he met her lips with just as much fervor. Grabbing her hand, he rushed them into his room, before spinning to kiss her again. Her knees quickly met the bed, his hands pushing on her shoulders so she could fall back. Leaning back, Draco cast a wild look around the room to make sure it was clear. Casting a strong ward and silencing charm, he started on Pansy's neck, encouraged by her rough breathing and moans. His lips were trailing down, reaching her chest. Running a hand up her waist, he tugged the white button up out of her too-short skirt.

Draco groaned, seeing the expanse of pale, milky skin that was pulled taut in toned muscle. Unbuttoning, he kissed his way up to her green bra, gently pebbling a nipple in his warm mouth.

"Draco, please." His hands unsnapped her bra, pulling it off with her shirt in one go. Stepping back, he admired her form, bare from the waist up, just a plaid skirt and knee-high socks. She must have kicked her shoes off somewhere earlier. Her arms reached out, trying to pull him back. Instead, he tossed his shirt and pants, leaving him in silk boxers.

"On your knees, Pansy." Fisting himself, Draco pulled down the waistband so his member could pop up. On the bed, Pansy quickly got on her hands and knees, her mouth at the right level to take him. Stepping forward, he fisted her hair and began to guide her down on his length.

"That's right, take it all. That's it, Pans. A little bit more." His moans encouraged her to continue. Draco pushed further, ignoring her protesting gag sounds. "Take it all, like a good girl."

His praise elicited a deep moan from the girl, allowing him to feel the vibrations and warmth of her mouth. Tightening his hold on her hair, he began to pump. She was making noises, almost squealing as he pounded into her face.

A few moments passed, him pumping into her, his sack slapping hard against her face. Saliva was dripping all over him, leaking from Pansy's stuffed mouth. With one last groan, he released, holding her head in place until she swallowed. Head thrown back, Draco lazily threw an eye open to see her looking at him expectantly.

"Don't worry Pansy." He pulled his waist away, a trail of saliva trailing from her mouth to the tip of his head. "Our night is far from over."


End file.
